After getting back in town late Friday night, I took my boys to Sebastian’s, our usual barber, for much needed haircuts Saturday morning. Sebastian, aka Sam, Braccia has been cutting hair in Roslyn for a long time. He is a fine Christian man who loves to garden and does a great job on our hair. I look forward to going. I’ll learn something about gardening, we’ll discuss what to plant first in our greenhouses, the boys will get a lollipop…
Actually, that morning I only had my youngest with me as the other was at gymnastics and so I was going to ask for a slot in the early afternoon. The young woman at the desk asked if we could have him there by 1 pm since they would be having a party from 1 to 4 pm. That’s not unusual since Sam has always had a little New Year’s celebration. Last year, I tried Port while waiting for a haircut. Not sure what port really is but certainly not appealing to me. Anyway, as I sat in the chair for my haircut I couldn’t help but notice the numerous “congratulations on your retirement” cards. “Yes,” Sam said, he was retiring indeed. When? “Today, at 1 pm.”
Sounds silly, but I welled up. I hate endings and I hate to see such a fine man no longer a part of the community. Surely he will continue to enjoy many things. He has his health. But he won’t be a part of the local community. So, I picked up my son Sam early from the YMCA and made sure he was there prior to 1 pm. I think he got either the last or the next to last haircut at the shop. Sam, who feels strong emotions about life, also teared up at the prospect of not having Mr. Sam any longer. He was losing something routine and a caring grandfatherly figure.
Where will we go in five weeks? I asked Sam for a recommendation. He suggested the young girl working at the next chair. Since the shop is being sold to one of the current hairstylists, he thought I should use Kristin but if not, then the barber down the street. I’m sure this young girl will do a fine job. I’ve seen her many times in the shop. Once, when she was getting training, Sam let her cut one of my boy’s hair. She’ll be fine, but it won’t be the same.
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Did I mention I hate endings? Seems I might have watched Brett Favre’s last game, though memories of Michael Jordan’s or Roger Clemen’s “last” game remind me that you don’t know ’til you know. Watching Favre play is like watching someone play pick-up football in the back yard. He plays for fun and will try anything, even when its unwise. We need a few more of these kinds of players today.
Musings on Faith and Psychology 